Porridge
by FamilyGuyFanatic
Summary: [PORRIDGE] Lennie Godber gets on the wrong side of Harry Grout, and almost pays with his life. But how far will he go to stop Fletcher getting hurt too? Rated T for language and injury detail. Please review! Based on the 1970s BBC sitcom Porridge.
1. Chapter 1

It was all his fault. Fletcher knew that if he'd just stayed out of Harry Grout's way from the start, it never would have happened. But Grouty knew that Fletcher would rather do something bad than get on his bad side, so when Fletcher refused to help Grouty's friend break out of the prison, Grouty wanted revenge. He knew that Fletcher didn't care about his possessions, and would be happy to get injured if it got him into the infirmary. So after much deliberation, Grouty knew how to get back at Fletcher - Lennie Godber.

* * *

Lenny Godber stepped under the stream of freezing water, goose bumps all over his skin. He thought he'd be used to the cold water by now, but Lenny couldn't stop shivering, and washed himself as quickly as possible. Wrapping his towel around his waist, Lennie, skidding on the wet floor, headed back over to the bench where he had placed his clothes, and began to dry himself. He was just pulling on his trousers when he heard a voice from behind him.

"Hello, Lennie." Came the sly voice of Harry Grout.

"Oh, hello Mr Grout." Lennie replied nervously.

"Did you hear about Fletcher being a naughty boy?" Grouty asked, his smile making Lennie's stomach flip.

Lennie bundled up his shirt, vest and towel, clutching them to his chest. "If you'll excuse me, Mr Grout, I-" He was cut off as one of the large, burly men stood either side of Grouty grabbed hold of his arm, his grip painfully tight.

"Where do you think you're going, Godber? We want a word with you."

Lennie swallowed nervously, his eyes bright with fear, and, somewhat reluctantly, turned to face Harry Grout again. "What is it?"

"Well, your pall Fletcher had been a naughty boy, and I need to teach him a lesson." His malicious eyes were fixed on Lennie, who wanted to run away more than anything in the world, but found himself too scared to move.

"Fletcher hasn't done anything." Lennie demanded, his fear blinded by anger at his friend being accused of something bad enough to offend Harry Grout, and anyway, Fletch had promised him that he was going to stay away from Harry Grout.

Grouty chuckled, but the other henchman pulled Lennie into an arm lock, making him drop his clothes. Lennie tried to shriek, but a hand was clamped roughly over his mouth, muffling any sound that Lennie tried to make.

"Dear me, you're a feisty one, aren't you?" He asked, more to himself than Lennie, as the young man struggled futily to escape. "I bet Fletcher's proud of you - he was never brave enough to stand up to me, at least before yesterday. He wouldn't help my mates escape from this prison, and I need to teach him a lesson." Grouty explained as Godber stared at him, fear mingling with hatred in his brown eyes. One of Lennie's flailing feet caught him between the legs, and he swore violently, whilst Godber received a hard blow to the side of the head. Grouty had been rather enjoying scaring Godber, but now, as his eyes watered, he looked back into Lennie's eyes, hating the young man. He sighed, "I was just going to beat you up, Godber, but now you've kicked me in the knackers, I can't let the word get out."

Lennie sensed what was coming, and kicked furiously, looking absolutely terrified, before he even saw the knife. But that didn't stop his eyes widening in horror, and although his voice was muffled by his gag, Lennie screamed for someone to help him as he was dragged into a shower cubicle. Smacking into the sopping lino with a thud, Lennie couldn't have prepared himself for the agony he was about to feel.

Searing pain exploded in his abdomen as the knife pierced his skin, and Lennie howled in agony, watching the blade sink deep into his flesh and the blood pour from the wound. Lennie's vision blurred as the knife was pulled roughly out of him, and he slumped sideways onto the lino, making himself close his eyes until he heard them walk away, seemingly convinced that they had killed him. He was left alone in the changing rooms as his blood spurted from the dep wound to the beat of his racing heart, wondering what he was going to do, and if he was going to die.


	2. Chapter 2

Pain. Constant, blinding, searing pain was all Lennie could feel as he fumbled for his towel, which was still over his shoulders, bunched it up, and pressed it against the stab wound, choking back the scream of agony he was trying to make. Somehow, Lennie hauled himself to his feet and turned the shower back on, allowing the evidence of his attack to rinse down the plug hole. All Lennie wanted was to curl up and cry until help arrived, but he knew that Fletcher couldn't find out about it, otherwise Grouty would get Fletch too, so he kept himself conscious by running the same thought through his head again and again: _I'll be alright, It'll heal and everything will be back to normal..._

So Lennie staggered back over to the bench, noticing how he was alone in the showers - obviously down to Grouty -, and slowly pulled on his trousers, shoes and socks, almost vomiting at the pain caused by bending over, but gritted his teeth, still reciting his phrase in his mind. Keeping the already blood soaked towel against his abdomen, Lennie knew the only way to stem the flow of blood was constant pressure, so he wrapped his tie around his abdomen and tied the towel in place, before pulling on his vest, shirt and jacket, buttoning it up right to the top. The towel caused a bulge much like a three-month pregnancy bump, but Lennie didn't care; he felt dizzy with blood loss.

Although every step was agony, and his legs wobbled under his body weight, Lennie realised his shift in the kitchen was about to start, and hurried off towards the canteen, stopping first by the sinks to was the blood from his trembling hands. He caught a glimpse of his pale, clammy face in the mirror as he scrubbed the congealed blood from under his fingernails, but didn't think anyone would take any notice, and rushed off to the kitchen, both hands clasping his badly throbbing stomach.

He arrived at the kitchen just before the bell, and had pulled on his long white jacket and chef's hat when Lukewarm came over.

"Are you alright, Lennie, you look very pale?" Lukewarm asked, concern written on his chubby face.

"I'm fine, Lukewarm." Lennie mumbled, smiling weakly at his fellow chef. Lukewarm wasn't convinced, but didn't get chance to reply, because the prison officer on duty yelled at them to get on and work.

But as he and Lennie worked at adjacent ovens, Lukewarm continued to glance at him, getting worried as Lennie's face got steadily paler, and he winced at the slightest movement.

"Lukewarm?" Lennie asked, now as grey as his grubby bed sheets. His stomach was hurting so badly he didn't think he could actually bend over to put his pasties in the oven without passing out, so he had concocted a lie to get out of it, "Could you put my pasties in the oven for me - I've done my back in?"

"Of course, Lennie." Lukewarm did as Lennie asked, but still didn't believe him. But he was stopped from speaking again as Mr Mackay burst into the kitchen.

"Alright, you lot!" He shouted with his thick Scottish accent, glaring at every prisoner in the room, who had all turned to face him. "What are you doing, Lukewarm?" He snapped as Lukewarm attempted to open his oven.

"I need to put my pasties in the oven, Mr Mackay, or-" Lukewarm began.

"Stand still!" Mr Mackay yelled, and Lukewarm closed his oven door again. "Now, there has been a robbery - Mr Barroclough's wallet had been stolen - so we are searching every prisoner until we find it." He explained as he and the other officer began to frisk search each man in turn.

Lennie became more and more nervous as his turn to be searched approached; he had to get out. He made for the door, but Mr Mackay spotted him,

"Where are you going, Godber?" Mr Mackay called across the kitchen, making Lennie stop in his tracks.

"The bog, Mr Mackay." Lennie replied, with fake innocence.

"Well I'm afraid you'll have to - hang on," Mr Mackay added as he spotted the lump under Lennie's jacket, "What are you hiding, Godber?"

"Nothing, Mr Mackay." Lennie insisted, but the prison officer had already reached him.

"Hands by your sides, Godber!" Mr Mackay snapped, and Lennie grudgingly let go of his abdomen, letting his trembling hands fall to his side. "What have we got here?" He muttered to himself, poking the bulge. Lennie bit his lip hard to stop himself wincing.

Mr Mackay removed Lennie's hat, and ordered the prisoner to take of his chef's whites and jacket. He was shocked to see Lennie's blue and white striped shirt stained brown, with what he could only assume to be congealed blood. "What on Earth..." He mused, before sticking his hand up under Lennie's shirt, and pulling out the towel, which was soaked in fresh, scarlet blood.

"Oh my God!" Lukewarm shrieked, looking faint, but Mr Mackay ignored him.

"Is this your blood, Godber?" He asked, voice much softer than usual.

Lennie shook his head, mumbling almost drunkenly as he swayed on his feet, face drenched in sweat, "No, Mr Mackay, it's nothing, not important." But despite his insistence that he was fine, Lennie suddenly stumbled, knees buckling. Mr Mackay had to act fast to stop Lennie collapsing, and, gripping the prisoner's arms, lowered Lennie to the floor. The semi conscious prisoner was unable to resist as Mr Mackay pulled up his shirt and vest, but he knew Mr Mackay had seen the wound by his sudden cry of:

"Godber's been stabbed!" He shouted at the other officer, who, without hesitation, ran straight towards the hospital wing. The other prisoners crowded around Lennie, each of them shocked as they saw the deep, bloody stab wound in his abdomen, but Mr Mackay yelled at them to back off, before speaking to Lennie in a voice that the young prisoner had never heard before. "You're going to be alright, Godber, so stay with me, okay?" Mr Mackay said, sounding almost reassuring, and Lennie grinned weakly at him, eyes unfocused.

"You should try being this kind more often, Mr Mackay." Lennie slurred.

Mr Mackay chuckled, "I don't think so, Godber."

"Mr Mackay?" Lennie whispered, "I can't feel my legs." A single tear slid down his clammy face.

"We're getting you medical help, Godber." Mr Mackay replied comfortingly, "The MO will be able to help."

"Can I see Fletcher?" Lennie asked, voice wavering. "I need to tell him he's in danger."

"Why is he in danger?" Mr Mackay asked urgently, but before he could get a response, Lennie passed out, eyes half closed, body limp.

Mr Mackay sat in silence, watching Lennie breathe, until the MO arrived with a stretcher, and the pair of them took him down to the infirmary, uncertain whether or not Godber was going to pull through.


	3. Chapter 3

Fletcher was bored stiff. He had been painting - or, rather, sitting around until an officer came in, and then painting - the library for hours now, and he couldn't have been less interested in decorating. Mr Mackay had appeared an hour ago, and had frisked Fletcher, practically accusing him of stealing the wallet, before leaving empty-handed. Since then, Fletcher had been alone in the library, and had taken to talking to himself to relieve his boredom .

Fletcher jumped to his feet and grabbed a paintbrush as he heard a key in the lock, and wiped the non-existent sweat from him forehead as Mr Mackay entered the room.

"I need a word, Fletcher." The rather sweaty prison officer insisted, locking the door behind him.

"Really, Mr Mackay? You want me to work, and then, when I do, you want be to stop?" Fletcher whined in mock exasperation.

"Look, Fletcher, this isn't the time for your lip." Mr Mackay snapped. He paused, taking a deep breath, "Godber's been stabbed."

"What!?" Fletcher shouted, dropping his paintbrush. He couldn't believe it - Godber, his cellmate, his _friend_ had been stabbed! "Is he alright? Who did it? When did it happen?" He babbled, face draining of colour, eyes wide.

Mr Mackay sighed. "He's in the infirmary, we've called an ambulance, but it's going to take ages for them to arrive; I have no idea who did it; and I found out twenty minutes ago, but he had lost so much blood, it could have happened over fifteen minutes before that." Mr Mackay explained, for once not snapping at Fletcher, who had lost his cocky attitude,a dn was trembling slightly. "But before he fainted, Fletcher, Godber told me to tell you that you were in danger - do you have any idea why that could be?" Fletcher could hear a sense of urgency in Mr Mackay's voice.

"No, I don't th- Grouty." Fletcher suddenly announced as a thought came to him, and he gritted his teeth with anger. "I bet you it was Grouty, Mr Mackay, he hates me, so he'll hate my cellmate too."

Mr Mackay didn't pursue it; he, like all prison officers, was scared of Harry Grout.

"Well, can I see him, Mr Mackay?" Fletcher pleaded.

Mr Mackay sighed, "Come on then, Fletcher, but I want this room tidied before lock up tonight."

"Thanks, Mr Mackay." Fletcher smiled gratefully, and followed the officer towards the infirmary. As he walked through the prison, Fletch wondered why it was so deserted, but Mr Mackay told him before he had a chance to ask.

"After we found that Godber had been attacked, we stopped everyone from leaving their workplaces." He explained, before unlocking another door and leading Fletcher into the infirmary.

Fletcher gasped as he saw Godber; Lennie was flat on his back on a bed, topless, and deathly pale, thick, blood stained bandages wrapped around his exposed abdomen. The MO was leaning over the prisoner, his disposable gloves covered in blood, both hands applying firm pressure to his patient's injury. If he didn't know better, Fletch would have thought Godber was dead: he was so pale; his chest was rising and falling so slowly it looked as if he wasn't breathing; but his half closed eyes scared Fletcher the most - apart from the blood - for he could see the white of Godber's eyes glinting eerily below their lids.

The MO his head a Fletcher's gasp, and frowned. "Oh, it's you." He said, clearly unimpressed. It was no secret that the MO hated Fletcher, for he spent most of his time trying to trick the MO into letting him into the infirmary. But a groan from Godber's direction stopped him kicking Fletcher out, for he turned to see the young prisoner open his eyes, before crying out in pain. "It's OK, Godber, you're in the infirmary, and I'll give you some pain relief if you wish." The MO said, using a voice that he saved for patients who were seriously ill, which was why Fletcher had never heard it before.

Godber ignored him, and instead looked a Fletcher, eyes widening. "Fletch." He croaked, and his cellmate hurried over, crouching down so their eyes were at the same level.

"What is it, Godber?" Fletcher asked, feeling near tears as he saw Lennie looking so helpless.

Godber took a shuddering breath, wincing as the action pulled on his wound. "You don't need to worry about me, Fletch, I'll be OK, just look out for yourself." He mumbled, holding out his arm as the MO stuck a needle into the back of his hand and pumped painkillers into his blood. The effect on Godber was almost instantaneous - his tense muscles relaxed slightly and his pupils dilated.

"What? I don't understand, Godber." Fletcher looked puzzled, and Lennie sighed, looking tearful.

"Just stay out of it, Fletch, I don't want you wanting revenge and getting hurt. I couldn't bear it if you died too." Godber began to sob, tears seeping down his pale face.

"You're not going to die, Godber." Fletcher insisted, but the MO snapped at him,

"You're upsetting my patient, Fletcher, go away."

Fletcher wanted to argue, but Mr Mackay gave him a look, before unlocking the door, and letting three paramedics into the room. One of them hooked Godber straight up to an ECG machine, another began to unwrap the now blood soaked bandages, and the third turned to the MO.

"This is Leonard Godber, 26, and he has a deep stab wound to his upper abdomen." The MO explained, and the paramedic, a middle-aged man, nodded sombrely.

"Will he be OK?" Fletcher added, staring at Godber, who had fallen asleep after being given morphine.

"Who are you?" The paramedic asked, but Mr Mackay butted in.

"This is Norman Stanley Fletcher, Godber's cellmate."

"Well, Mr Fletcher, I'm sure your friend will recover, the wound doesn't appear to have punctured any organs." He gave Fletcher a smile, before they strapped Lennie onto a stretcher and took him back to the ambulance, leaving Fletcher alone with Mr Mackay and the MO, all of them doubting the paramedic's optimistic words.


	4. Chapter 4

The MO set about cleaning up his infirmary, grimacing slightly. He disliked it when his infirmary was used, and tried his best to get it back to normal as quickly as possible. Fletcher stood behind him in a daze, just staring at all the blood. Godber's blood.

Mr Mackay sighed, and turned to face the prisoner. "Come on, Fletcher, back to work," But he didn't sound like he normally did; Mr Mackay's voice lacked all aggression and sounded, quiet frankly, pathetic.

Fletcher didn't respond. "Fletcher," He said, shaking the prisoner's shoulder.

"Hm?" Fletcher murmured, turning his head towards Mr Mackay. "What did you say, Mr Mackay?" He asked. "I'm a bit distracted, you know?" He smiled weakly.

Mr Mackay nodded, understanding Fletcher's absent behaviour: he felt a bit dazed himself. "You need to go back to work, Fletcher. That library's not going to paint itself."

Fletcher stared at him. "I thought you were gonna let me see Godber, Mr Mackay."

Sighing, Mr Mackay said, "He's not going to be at hospital for three hours, Fletcher, and even then, he'll be in surgery. Besides, you can't leave the prison without authorisation from the Governor - and after last week, he's never going to be lenient with you again, Fletcher."

"But, Mr Mackay, it was only a joke-"

"I don't care what your motives were, Fletcher," Mr Mackay cut him off. "The point is, you won't get authorisation to visit Godber unless your medical circumstances mean you have to visit him, as the Governor no longer trusts you."

"And," The Medical Officer added. "There is no way I will write you a sick note, Fletcher, so get out of my infirmary!"

Sighing, Fletcher let himself be led out of the infirmary by the prison guard, hanging his head. It wasn't fair.

He dragged his feet as Mr Mackay marched him along the many corridors, only looking up when they reached the library door. The door swung open, revealing the half painted walls and paint splattered dust sheets. It was going to take hours to tidy up.

Mr Mackay looked at Fletcher, and sighed. "Okay, Fletcher," He said. "you've got three hours left of your shift, but I'll let you off as soon as you tidy this up." Fletcher smiled, and he added, "But you're not to tell anyone."

Fletcher's smile broadened, and he said, "Thanks, Mr Mackay," But the officer had already gone, locking the door behind him.

* * *

Once he had finished tidying up the mess, Fletcher traipsed off towards his cell - his and Godber's cell. Everyone was still on their shifts, so he wouldn't have to converse with the other prisoners for just over two hours. Which was good, because he really didn't feel like talking to anyone.

Fletcher's legs felt heavy, his feet dragging as he dragged them up stairs, through gates and along corridors. Whenever a guard asked him why he wasn't working, he just said, "Ask Mr Mackay," and they left it at that. What Fletcher didn't see was the way the guards looked at him, as though they were concerned.

Upon reaching his cell block, Fletcher, continuing to stare at his feet, walked straight into someone. He expected to be shouted at, but the officer put a hand on Fletcher's shoulder instead. Confused, Fletcher raised his head, and saw it was Mr Barraclough. He relaxed.

"What are you doing, Fletcher?" The officer asked in his usual, nervous way.

Fletcher took a deep breath, feeling like everything was such an effort now. He was exhausted. "Ask Mr Mackay." he said, but Mr Barraclough didn't release his grip. Fletcher felt sweat break out across his forehead, his chest tightening. He felt trapped, just like Godber did when he got attacked. He wanted to get away.

Mr Barraclough stared at the prisoner, confused. "Are you alright, Fletcher? You look stressed."

The prisoner didn't reply, his eyes widening. He made a dash for freedom, and Mr Barrclough was taken by sunrise, his grip loosening. Fletcher ran off and dived into his cell, clambering up onto his bunk. He breathed slowly, and managed to calm down. That was very strange, he thought. He had never felt claustrophobic before.

After a few minutes, Mr Baraclough entered the cell, followed by the Medical Officer. Great, Fletcher thought, now he was going to get yelled at. But, to his surprise, Mr Barralcough began to support him.

"So why was it you brought me here?" The MO asked, looking at Fletcher with more than a little resentment. Fletcher glared back.

"Well, as you know, Fletcher's cell mate got . . ."

"Stabbed up by a total nerk?" Fletcher suggested, his voice thicker than usual. He had to swallow hard to get rid of the lump in his throat.

"Er, thank you, Fletcher," Mr Barraclough said, a little confused. "Well, Godber got stabbed earlier today and I'm worried that it has affected Fletcher."

The MO gave him an incredulous look. "Mr Barraclough, I know you have certain sympathies for Fletcher, but what possibly is wrong with him?" Fletcher scowled.

Mr Barraclough rubbed his eyes. "Fletcher has been walking around staring at the floor. The other guards say that he seemed distant when they talked to him. When I put my hand on his shoulder, he panicked and ran away. Is that about right, Fletcher?"

The prisoner nodded. "Yeah, Mr Barraclough. I just felt trapped when you touched me. I sort of imagined how Godber must have felt w-when he got . . . attacked, and freaked out." Fletcher was shocked and rather irritated to find his eyes getting damp, and he quickly scrubbed at his face with the back of his hand. His bottom lip started twitching, and he took in a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He couldn't start crying, not in front of the MO. He'd never live it down.

Now he appeared to have got the MO's attention; the medical officer approached Fletcher and stared at him, as though he was studying him. It made Fletcher feel uncomfortable.

"Do you feel tense, worried, stressed, like you want to cry at all?" He asked in a purely medical voice, without a trace of sympathy.

Fletcher looked at him. That was exactly how he felt. "Yeah, all of them."

The MO turned back to Mr Barraclough. "He's just reacting normally to a friend getting hurt. It's nothing to worry about." And he walked off, leaving Fletcher and ,r Barraclough alone.

It wasn't fair. He had to see Godber, to know how he was doing. He needed to be there to support his young friend, Godber must have been terrified.

And that was when Norman Stanley Fletcher burst into tears.


End file.
